Oral Satisfaction
by Chloe Delfine
Summary: Someone muses about the characters of certain Superstars from a different point-of-view. Mature content. Please enjoy! OC/A number of WWE Superstars


**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything, with the exception of Sancia. Other than that, please enjoy!**

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Hi, I'm Sancia McMahon – daughter to Vince and Linda. And like my older siblings, Shane and Stephanie, I'm following in the family business – or learning to, rather. Dad's made me tag along with Steph; although frankly, I'd much rather follow Shane around – he's a whole lot less uptight and restrictive about things.

I'll be the first to admit that I don't have Steph's brains, Shane's street-smarts nor Dad's complete awesomeness. But, what I do have is a pretty face, a beach volleyballer's body, a perky ass and boobs that could make any grown man sit up and take notice.

Oh, and a mouth that was made to suck. Not that I've told that to anyone in my family, of course. Unless you count the WWE guys as family – then I'd say a fair number of them are already privy to that fact.

Okay, I haven't cleared the whole lot yet, but I have slept with a few of them. I'm not a ring rat – wrestling is in my blood – it's just that I choose to take a different route from the rest of my family. They say you have to know your wrestlers intimately to know the business right? Well, that's what I'm doing haha. Don't tell Steph, she'll go beserk.

Okay okay okay, I've slept with a fair number of them, okay? Geez, technicalities… Yet, sex is not always what I'm looking for. Besides that would require us both taking most of our clothes off and finding a somewhat comfortable and appropriate spot to 'do it' and sometimes, there's just not always that much time. Sometimes, oral satisfaction is quite, quite enough.

I like to give and I love to receive. I'm not one of those girls who shies away from a nice-sized dick when it is presented to me. I take it in my mouth with a certain self-confidence and go to work on it. They writhe and moan and wrap their fingers in my hair. That's one of the reasons I'm growing it out. I like the feel of hands and fingers flowing across and through my hair. Just as long as they don't yank my head towards them, forcing me in closer to what they want. I consider what I'm doing an art form, not to be handled by others. If they want to jerk the head of anyone around, they need to find some young, inexperienced female who doesn't know better. But, as far as I can tell, in today's society, most girls learn to do this before their fourteenth birthday.

But, giving is not where you learn the true character of a man. They all moan in sort of the same fashion and then thrust into your mouth. Some are polite enough to tell you they are about to cum so you can decide whether you want to take it all in or move our mouth and let them catch it in their hands instead. Others take charge and don't give you a choice. Sometimes, I like that more than the polite ones. It's okay for men to take charge… Occasionally.

I sit in gorilla and muse about them individually. Not about what they look like or exactly how they smell when I have my nose snuggled up against them and my mouth wrapped around them. Nor exactly about their moans and that look of focused concentration above me as they pump in me, with my legs wrapped tightly around them. (Mmm… I like.) No, right now, I'm musing about their character as they have their head between my thighs and their tongue is going to work. That's when you learn the true character of a man.

I suppose out of politeness, I should begin with the most recent. Chris Jericho. The problem with Chris, whom I _do_ like a lot, is that he gets chatty. I don't really need a man talking to me from down there. I thought that was one of the advantages of cunnilingus. They should be too busy to speak. Instead, with Chris, I'm always hearing, "Is that good?", "Are you okay?" and "You taste incredible". I don't care how I taste, personally, and would rather not be told right there and then because I start to think of ways I could change the taste to make it more incredible. I know, lay off red meat. That changes the 'atmosphere' of the area entirely. Or at least that's what they say in Cosmo.

Chris is pretty good at it. Okay, really good at it. He just talks too much…

Looking down, I see Dave Bastista making his way to the ring. Everybody stiffens up and goes crazy in his presence. Something melts down to my core just thinking about my evenings with my ass on his hotel bed and his head dipped between my thighs. Oh, he commands attention wherever he goes and this was no different. He pulled me forward so I was at just the right angle and he pulled my knees apart, taking charge of the whole situation, he would say things like, "This is what I'm going to do now, so be ready." And then, without any pomp or circumstance, he'd delve right in, his tongue doing marvelous things. Perhaps this skill comes with age. Hell, I didn't care where it came from. I would cum and he would lean back against the headboard of the bed and not say much. He never said much. But, who the hell needed to say anything at that point?

Yes, Dave is good. I just hate the look of 'We shouldn't be doing this' that crosses his still damp face immediately afterwards. I hate it because I know it is true.

The best thing to happen to the industry since the invention of water heaters in arena changing rooms walks by. He looks all serious right now, the ever-in-control Champ, but I've seen a different side of him. John Cena can be so sweet and caring that when I think about him, I sometimes want to go 'Awww' instead of writhing around in passion on my chair. But, not only is he considerate while he's doing it, he's so damn hot it is unbelievable. Usually, unless I'm in bed with them already, I don't have them take their clothes off. John was the exception to that rule. I had to see what was under that t-shirt. I needed to see it while he was doing this to me. Sure, I've seen it tons of times before. I have gone down on him, my tongue traveling down those rippling muscles, down his soft, tender skin before coming to that thick cock of his. I have spent numerous nights in his bed, thrashing about in passion, suffering orgasm after endless orgasm. But, I still liked to see that skin while he was treating me to a little attention from the Champ. While doing it, he wouldn't say much, needn't say much. He'd just lap away like a newborn puppy with its mama. Then, when he'd bring me to orgasm, he would just look up at me with that devilish grin of his and his deep dimples and ask, "Was that good for you?"

Like he had to ask. Is he insane?

Shit, what's he doing in here? Randy Orton breezes through the arena with a singular determination: getting to his destination without having to talk to any of the people 'beneath' him. And here comes my dear brother-in-law, Paul 'Triple H' Michael Levesque for the interception – Legend Killer meet King of Kings. Which one of them should I examine first?

I'm sure Randy would want to go first and Triple H, being the gentleman that he is, would allow him to do so. Randy would just want to get into my mind and out of it as fast and as discreetly as possible. He's like that in everything he does. And ever so occasionally, he messes up whatever it is he's doing. But, he covers up well and keeps right on going. Everybody is always satisfied in the end, one way or another. In typical Randy style, he's very aloof while he's dong it. Sometimes, he's even colder afterwards. Not out of guilt. I can't imagine Randy Orton ever feeling guilty. But, while he's doing it, he goes at it with the same determination that he does everything. As a multi-generational Superstar, it's in his blood to focus on the objective and focus he does. We would always meet up in some clandestine place and get busy right away. No time for small talk. That was always his theory. Sometimes, we never even made it to the bedroom. Instead, we'd end up in some back room with his head between my thighs. When I was done, he'd be there leering up at me with a smirk on his face as if he'd just been declared World Champion. On other occasions, I'd be left with knees so shaky and a distinct difficulty in walking for the next few days from the hard, rapid, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am fucking we'd engage in.

He liked to do this, but then again, I think Randy likes to do anything that can show off his skills. I just wish he wasn't so full of himself. I could really learn to like him.

I'm about to get to Triple H, Everything Extraordinaire, when Evan Bourne pokes his head my way and informs me that Shane is looking for me. And as Evan is speaking, I recall one of my experiences with the most exciting high-flyer around here. Evan, so boyish-looking, really does know a lot about oral satisfaction. Actually, he knows _too_ much. He's the only man I know who ever actually wanted to instruct me as I was giving him a blow job. How the hell did he know so much anyway? Too bad I couldn't ask. Too bad he won't tell. But, when it came to me being on the receiving end, it was great. His tongue could swirl around in ways I've never felt before. Too bad he was a little tense about who I am. Like when a man has his tongue dancing across my clit, what does whose daughter/sister I am matter much? Like hello…

Paul 'Triple H' Michael Levesque… As I said, Everything Extraordinaire. He is the King of Kings, the pinnacle of WWE success. And his expertise doesn't just run in the wrestling ring. I feel a warm flush run through me as I think of all those sultry nights spent in his bed. He is gorgeous to the bone, but believe you me, don't let that fool you. His strategic skills don't stop in a match. He is not called the Cerebral Assassin for nothing. I remember one particular night when he made it his personal mission to seek out all my hot spots and pound them mercilessly till I was sobbing, begging for release. Just thinking about that one night makes me feel tingly all over. My sister is a lucky, lucky woman.

Ted DiBiase, Jr, my ex-boyfriend, my still close confidante and my more-than-willing partner in hot, steamy fucking sessions, walks by again and looks my way, nodding in the general direction just outside gorilla. I nod and motion for him to give me another minute and he smiles at me before going about his way.

I wish I could motion for Teddy to take me to some private corner, right here, right now. They say it really is different with someone you love/loved, and they weren't lying. Teddy and I dated for almost 5 years. He was actually the first guy that I slept with and believe me when I say that Teddy is really the sweetest guy that you could possibly think of or hope to be with. Then, why break up you ask? Boredom, perhaps? Not knowing what it was I had when I had it? I really don't know.

Steph hates it that Teddy and I are still so close. She absolutely hates it. I don't know why exactly but I suspect it stems from when she walked in on Teddy and I fucking when I was like, 20? She went ballistic (yeah, I know, what a prude). Shortly after, I found out that I was pregnant. Teddy went all emo on me and kept insisting on settling down and getting married. I got rid of both shortly after. Emo boys frighten me.

Anyway, enough digression. In spite of everything, I would love to be back in our bedroom right now. If only for a minute. Teddy does everything so slowly and with such skill, I thought I would die under his tongue. But, I always feel the most alive right there, with him loving me and loving my body. That's Teddy. Always caring, always skillful, always passionate. And with just the perfect touch of aggression.

I stand up from my seat and walk out of gorilla, trying to chase all these thoughts out of my head. I now have to go sit through a dinner with most of these men. I know about them, but they don't fully know about each other.

Walking past the side of the ring, I discover Randy standing there with his hands on his hips, his mind running a mile a minute, taking in the competition He stops and looks at me, drawing the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip before he continues. Dave looks like he has a headache the size of the Grand Canyon just from the way the match is going. He must notice where my eyes go, because he hooks his thumbs through his belt buckle, drawing attention to _that_ area. Chris is sitting there facing Dave and he slowly turns around when I walk past.

At least, tonight, when they are discussing whatever inane nonsense they may want to, I can focus on their mouths.

That's my favourite part.


End file.
